Blogger, realist, clarifier, if there is such a term. Truth teller, who's not afraid to admit I'm wrong. Hellacious, renegade violist and "computer whisperer"; was once accused of practicing the Dark Arts with systems.
I'm tougher than most and survived things that would have killed most women. I still love life. I was homeless, now I'm not. Still in the 'hood, though. Nebraska Avenue, 33605. The stories are priceless and endless.

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Saturday, July 23, 2011

MEDICAL FUN, MY RUN-IN WITH "MR. C" AND DALE EARNHART... THE CAT

I believe I've mentioned that I spend an inordinate amount of time at Bus World traveling to various Doctors for various medical tests. This becomes rather time-consuming and boring. I find it helps to relieve the anxiety and boredom if I invent new games. The doctors and other "Health Professionals" (bleah, that sounds so antiseptic) don't even need to be willing participants. Sometimes, it's more fun if they aren't willing, or even aware they're playing my game.

I had EMGs on both legs and my left arm a few weeks ago. This is one of the most singularly weird and ultimately painful tests I've ever endured. It consists of technicians wielding measuring tapes and drawing purple dots on my skin, from point to point. Then, they used some battery jumper cables on these various purple blobs and shot about 140,000 volts through the cables to see my muscles twitch, or something. I am not a frog and now, I am heartily sorry for torturing all those frogs in junior high Science, even if they were dead. So, to relieve the stress and yes, pain, of this test, I shouted out "It's Alive!" after one particularly nasty jolt. Three technicians and a neurologist looked at me like I had two heads. I swear, some people have no sense of humor. That was a tough room to work. Even puns failed me.

Yeah, you gotta take your fun where you find it around here. I'm legally blind now, I think there was some hope for about five minutes that I might actually get to see coherently again, but alas, this has not occurred. I developed cataracts suddenly in both eyes in mid-2004. I was able to have surgery on the right eye, but not being on Medicare, my insurance only paid for twelve hundred of the seven thousand dollar surgery. About a week after the cataract surgery, I was admitted with severe Congestive Heart Failure and spent two weeks in Brandon Regional Med Center. This was about the time hubby number three figured I was a worn out old hag and got him a girlfriend. Mr. Ethics now works at Hillsborough Kids, Inc. Glad to see the hiring standards for an agency that administers to Florida Department of Children and Families extends to philanderers and manipulators. My! Did that feel good!

Anyway, the problem with my eyes was always thought to be only cataracts, so in May of 2011, Hillsborough County paid for my left eye surgery. After seven years of blindness in that eye, there was some expectation that my eyes would not be in "sync" or track together or what have you. Surprise! They don't. They don't even attempt to play along nicely. I can make them "sync up" for a very short period of time, and then, we're back to what looks like a really shitty kaleidoscope of only two prisms. And when I can focus, my brain perceives two of everything. It really sucks. I also fall down a lot, because, surprise! I have no depth perception. I do however, have 80 billion copies of "How to Avoid Falls" given to me by various helpful "health professionals." These help cushion my falls. Just kidding.

Well. The Brothers X. Both ophthalmologists, but one is a surgeon and the other isn't. I like the other, but the surgeon is a complete asshat. Let's call surgeon Asshat A, and brother doctor, B. B ordered an MRI done about three weeks after my surgery because of the double-vision problem. So, B says come back in one month. I come back in one month and get stuck talking to A. Now, my surgery was done at TGH's While-U-Wait center, and I waited a bunch more than I was supposed to. Of course, Anesthesiologist had given me laughing gas or chloroform or whatever they use these days, three and a half hours earlier. I was awake through surgery, which was a bit disconcerting. A is hollering "you're killing me here!" because I kept moving my head, because THE STUPID CHLOROFORM WAS MOSTLY WORN OFF!!! Geeze... I'm thinking, "hey Doc, get your ass down on this table and let me poke you in the eye.

Anyhoo, I had to see this Brainiac on my second post-op visit. All he did was crow about how I now had 20/20 vision in my left eye and what a good job he did. I kept telling him that I had double vision and a squiggle and fuzz in the center of my left eye. He kept saying "I can fix that." For a minute, I thought I had making a guest appearance in the movie Star Trek 2009, and Dr. McCoy was going to treat me for hotdog finger, leaking and sightings of the dead. Sheesh. Typical arrogant surgeon. Just kidding? I did have the MRI. B is going to tell me what's up. So stay tuned for more riveting drivel.

Mr. C and I had a run-in this past week. He was frying toads with a side order of vermin. He took his plate of food and was going upstairs to his room to eat it. He was behind me and seeing as I don't have eyes in the back of my head, as well as being legally blind, I didn't see him. I guess he stood there for about five minutes, expecting me to detect his presence via my ESP. He finally said, "Excuse me," delivered in an inaudible mumble. So, I moved... about three inches. I didn't know what in the hell he wanted me to do. So then he hollers "MOVE!!!! SOME PEOPLE!!!! SHIT!" and just commenced to rant and rave ad infinitum, ad nauseum. I hollered back "FUCK YOU, SHUT THE HELL UP! OR BETTER YET, DO YOU WANT ME TO CALL THE POLICE ON MYSELF? IT'LL SAVE SOME TIME!" see here for explanation Everyone in the hall started to laugh. Mr. C scuttled off. Mr. C needs to go back to Cameroon, or Venus, or wherever the hell he's from.

In other Happy Acre news, we have acquired some animals. The four-footed kind, not the two-legged ones. We have enough of those. Some cats showed up and they seem to have taken up residence. One is a female, and she brought her babies. One kitten died, one just disappeared and the other is hanging around, but is very feral. However, one of my housies found another kitten and brought him here. K, who supposedly doesn't like cats, named him "Dale Earnhart." He looks like a Bengal or a Savannah kitten, but his name really fits him. This kitten tears around like a bat out of hell. In and out of the house, up on the tables, up and down the driveway, back yard, all over. He has quite the personality and everyone is feeding and catering to this little monster. This cat does not want for anything, lol. It's a good feeling; we don't always have such good feelings here.

So these are my musings on a Saturday. More later, as now, I can fire up the old system and type drivel and ramblings to my heart's content. I always wanted to be a raconteur. Ironically, my aunt Mary and I used to make up stories about being bag ladies in Detroit.Talk about prophetic.

Itinerant violist and computer trouble-shooter for more years than I care to admit. While no longer homeless, still crazy, but with Labels *sigh* a bus-riding Asperger, bipolar-ridden, PD or non-PD, carbon life-form, providing fodder for Medical community. Not even kidding. Still ridiculous.

Acquiring a much richer and fuller experience and finding deeper meaning in day to day life, than I ever learned in a classroom, concert hall, or computer center. I will never believe that things just occur randomly, just monumentally disordered.

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Eventually everything happens on Nebraska Avenue. The pimps have been here, both the real and the political. The athletes and the artists. It's a life, a state of mind and it's home, Nebraska Avenue, 33605, 33602 and 33604.

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